


Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

by Jenetica



Series: Sweet Dreams [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Fluff, Lots of Fluff Okay Like Lots of It, M/M, Mini-Were, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has one little sex dream about Derek, his mini-were, and now his entire world has turned upside down. But, Stiles thinks, for the better.</p><p>Based on prettiestalpha's <a href="http://prettiestalpha.tumblr.com/tagged/minialpha">minialpha series.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few disclaimers to mention.
> 
> This fic is not set in the same universe as HalePackBeta's fic [Mini Alpha](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1216648/chapters/2489680), which I highly recommend because it's adorable. I tried to make my story different enough from hers that no one would think I stepped on toes. 
> 
> Please see the end notes for a not-quite-warning. I promise there's nothing trigger-y here.
> 
> This is un-beta'd. Feel free to point out mistakes, if you see any.

“Hello, Stiles.”  
  
“Derek?” Stiles asks, turning. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, but he's never heard it so loud or so... sultry. What he sees sends him staggering back into his desk.  
  
Derek, on a good day, reaches just over six inches tall. He can sit in the palm of Stiles' hand, and often does. This Derek? He's six _feet_ tall. He's almost taller than Stiles.  
  
“Derek?” Stiles repeats weakly. “What's going on?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Derek purrs, stalking closer. Stiles swallows, his throat clicking loudly in the near silence of the room. Derek's got muscles, like, a _lot_ of them. And he's shirtless. Why is he shirtless?  
  
“Why are you shirtless?”  
  
“Why are you not shirtless?” Derek returns, teeth glinting in the moonlight streaming through the window. Stiles' heart thumps loudly as Derek steps into his space, between his knees. Stiles, confronted with Derek's ego-destroying chest, licks his lips. Why _isn't_ he shirtless? He should be. And pantsless, they should both be pantsless.  
  
“You smell so good,” Derek groans from above him. And oh yeah, that's why. This is _Derek_. Stiles' Derek, the mini-beta he bought almost a year ago from a cardboard box at a street fair.  
  
“Fuck, Derek, what's going on?” Stiles asks breathlessly, trying desperately to ignore the happenings in his boxers. “Am I dreaming?”  
  
“Why, am I the man of your dreams?” Derek smiles and leans in to snuffle at Stiles' throat. “You're the man of mine,” he whispers. Stiles can feels his lips move against the side of his neck, and it's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.  
  
Stiles is a gentleman, or so he likes to think, but he's no saint. He's a seventeen-year-old boy, and he's got an underwear model of a man pressing up against him. “Tell me you want this,” breathes.  
  
Derek straightens and his eyes are glowing blue. “I want _you_ ,” he says softly. Stiles lunges up, scratching his fingers through Derek's hair, and angles his head for a kiss. Their lips brush, and--  
  
Stiles jolts awake, breathing harshly in the darkness of his room. One glance at the clock tells him it's still the middle of the night. He frowns down at the tent in his blankets. What the actual fuck?  
  
Stiles looks over at Derek, who's curled up on Stiles' pillow, fast asleep. Careful not to jostle the bed too much, Stiles rolls upright and makes his way to the bathroom. He doesn't see the glowing, blue eyes that watch him leave.  
  
Jerking off has become something of a challenge since Stiles got Derek. Gone are his mornings of lazily bringing himself off before school or watching porn into the late hours of the night. Sometimes he can drop Derek off at Scott's for the afternoon to play with Scott's mini-were, Isaac. Stiles almost always spends these afternoons luxuriating in his orgasms, drawing each out until he's nearly sobbing with frustration. It's not ideal, but Stiles knows that having a mini-were is a compromise-- it's one of the first things the Sheriff drilled into him after he came home with Derek-- and he's okay with sacrificing some self-love for the devotion of his pet.  
  
But sometimes it's difficult. Derek's got sharp senses and the nose of a bloodhound, so Stiles feels awkward every time he feels so much as a pulse of arousal. He's never asked Derek just how much Derek can sniff out, and Derek's never volunteered the information. In fact, Derek seems to pointedly ignore any indication of Stiles' sexuality. Stiles appreciates that.  
  
He's never considered Derek's sexuality before. Mini-weres must have sex drives, as all animals do. Stiles would guess it's similar to that of humans, considering how human every other aspect of Derek is. So, does that mean Derek flirts? Do mini-weres go out on dates? Is it just, like, a sex thing or is there romance involved?  
  
Stiles realizes that hey, he can totally just ask. He feels stupid for not thinking of it earlier. He washes his hands, having come all over them a minute ago, and makes his way back to the bedroom. Derek's sitting up on the pillow, looking adorably rumpled in his tiny pajamas. Stiles feels disgusting for having a sex dream about him (and even more so for imagining how his bedhead would look on the man from his dreams), but he's read up on the psychology of teenaged sexuality and knows that crazy sex dreams are normal. Mostly.  
  
“Hey, you're up,” Stiles says, surprised. “You okay?”  
  
“You weren't here,” Derek replies, sounding disgruntled. Stiles smiles at him, feeling a warm bubble of affection in his chest.  
  
“Sorry, little man,” he says. “When Nature calls....”  
  
“You come,” Derek supplies, grinning sharply. Stiles splutters and falls over himself in shock. Derek makes sex jokes? Derek laughs, a tiny sound that barely filters all the way across the room, but Stiles is close enough to hear it loud and clear.  
  
“Jesus,” he says, clutching his heart. “I guess that answers one of my questions.”  
  
Derek cocks his head, and one of his fluffy ears swivels curiously. “You have questions?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand over his t-shirt. He was hoping to be a bit more discrete about it but, well, subtlety was never Stiles' forte. “I mean, I just kind of realized that I've never really asked you about, like, mini-were socializing.”  
  
“I play with Isaac, Boyd, and Erica,” Derek says, shrugging his little shoulders. Stiles loves that Derek is this tiny little hot guy who still says simple things like “play.” You just don't see that in full-sized people.  
  
“Yeah, and that's awesome, don't get me wrong. Hey, you're cool with that, right?” Stiles asks, distracted. “I mean, you still like them and everything?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Derek says, shrugging again. “Although Erica and Boyd are acting weird around each other. I think they're going to mate.”  
  
“Really?” Stiles sits on the bed cross-legged. “How can you tell?”  
  
“Well, besides the part where she shoves her boobs in his face at every opportunity,” Derek says dryly, “Boyd's been bringing her chocolate and stuff. Isaac hasn't noticed, but that's because Isaac's about as observant as my foot.”  
  
“Huh,” Stiles says, lips curling down in consideration. “So, like, what happens then?  
  
Derek crosses his arms. “Can we eat breakfast? I'm hungry.”  
  
“It's, like, four AM, dude,” Stiles says. “If I make breakfast now, I'll be dead by lunchtime. Hey, I have some of that cookie cereal stashed in my bag from yesterday, you want that?”  
  
Derek makes grabby hands, so Stiles gets up and fishes the plastic baggie from his backpack. He learned once that sugar depletion can lead to loss of focus, and he really doesn't need _more_ inattention in his life, so he makes sure to keeps snacks handy. He opens the baggie and lays it on the pillow.  
  
Derek has to crawl almost all the way inside to get his hands on a cookie, and Stiles still finds that incredible even after a year. Derek holds the cookie in both hands- it's like the size of a dinner plate for him-- and nibbles carefully at the edges. “Alright,” he says after finishing a quarter of the cookie. “What was your question?”  
  
“No, I just,” Stiles hedges, feeling embarrassed, “I was just curious about what you guys do, like, romantically. You know?”  
  
“Why, do you want to date a mini-were?” Derek teases.  
  
“No,” Stiles says, feeling his neck heat. “I'm just asking. It seems kind of important, you know?”  
  
“I suppose,” Derek says, munching thoughtfully. “I guess we're like humans. I don't know really, I never tried to date anyone.”  
  
“Really?” Stiles asks. “I always thought you'd be, like, an Adonis of the mini-were community.”  
  
“Not so much,” Derek snorts. He finishes his cookie and reaches for another.  
  
“Well, then, what do you want in a relationship?” Stiles asks, lifting the end of the baggie so the cookies slide toward the opening. Derek gives him a grateful smile and grabs one.  
  
“Someone kind,” Derek says. “Someone funny and caring. Someone who doesn't make me feel like less of a person because I'm small, or because I'm a were.”  
  
Stiles feels warmed from the inside out. “Who doesn't?” he agrees, sighing.  
  
“What about you?” Derek finishes his cookie and lies back on the pillow, looking sated. “What do you want?”  
  
“I think you said it, man,” Stiles says, scratching his stomach. “But I also want someone who likes superheroes and Back to the Future and Joss Whedon. I think I need a fellow geek.”  
  
“I like those things,” Derek offers softly.  
  
“Yeah, 'cause you're cool,” Stiles says, offering Derek an outstretched finger. Derek fistbumps it, smiling. “So you guys do date, then? Romance, wooing, the whole nine yards?”  
  
“I don't know,” Derek says, sounding frustrated. “I mean, that's what I want. I know Erica's all about the sex, and that's fine, but I don't know.” He scrubs a tiny hand over his face. “That feels empty to me.”  
  
“Me too,” Stiles says quietly. He feels like they just shared something heavy, something important that they'll never go back from. He regrets that they didn't have this talk months ago. “So, want to come to school with me today?” Mini-weres aren't forced to attend school like full-sized people, but teachers never complain if students bring their weres to class, as long as they keep to themselves and don't disrupt class too much.  
  
Derek loves school, usually. He made Stiles buy him a minuscule backpack with notebooks the size of Stiles' thumbnail and matching pencils. They were outrageously expensive, as most mini-were luxury products are, but Derek was so eager and the backpack was too fucking cute to resist.  
  
“Duh,” Derek says. “Are you going back to sleep?”  
  
“I don't think so,” Stiles says. He can't risk having another dream like the last, not right now. “How about we play chess instead?”  
  
“You read my mind,” Derek agrees, smiling up at him.  
  
Stiles sets up the chess board on his desk and carries Derek over. The mini-were is tragically horrible at strategy, but his determination to improve is truly impressive. He used to lose every game, but he's sent Stiles scrambling a few times recently. Stiles is pretty sure he's a handful of games from losing his precarious advantage over the were, and a smug Derek is an intolerable Derek.  
  
But watching him lift the pieces and tote them across the board is ridiculously cute. Stiles can manage the ego drop.  
  
He sets up the pieces while Derek warms himself up. Stiles' chess set isn't very heavy, but the knights can be weighty, and Derek strained his back once trying to move one. Now he limbers up before every game, just in case. Stiles refuses to judge him for it.  
  
The game is over quickly: it's too early for Stiles to take his meds, so his attention is pretty shot. Derek doesn't care, though, if the swish to his tail is any indication. He swaggers up to Stiles' king and dropkicks it, causing the piece to fall over. “Checkmate.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grumbles good-naturedly. “You're a despicable winner.”  
  
“Yep,” Derek says, popping the P. “Rematch?”  
  
They play four games before Stiles' alarm goes off, and Derek wins three of them. Stiles kisses his dignity aside; Derek will be bragging about this all day.  
  
Stiles puts the chess set away and they get ready for school. Derek has a miniature wardrobe and vanity on one of the shelves of Stiles' bookcase, but that doesn't prevent his clothes from getting all over Stiles' room. Stiles isn't sure how such small clothes can make such a large mess, but he has no room to complain. He's just as messy.  
  
Derek scratches over his beard in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. “Do I need to shave?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, trying to attempt nonchalance. He remembers the scrape of stubble against his throat from his dream, how delicious it was. “I like the scruffy look, but it's up to you.”  
  
Derek pinks faintly and puts the razor aside. “That's okay.”  
  
Stiles does shave, though, because his facial hair is patchy and gross, and they have a rule against it at school. Derek gels his hair in the mean time, sticking his tiny hand into the hole of the bottle to get more product. That's the nice thing about mini-weres: their specially-sized products are pricey, but their living costs are practically non-existent because they used so little.  
  
Stiles toasts a bagel for breakfast and rips off a chunk for Derek, who smears his cream cheese on carefully, covering the entire surface evenly. Stiles is far less precise. He used to tease Derek about it until he realized how uncomfortable he was making him. Derek has a few sensitivities like that, where Stiles has to reign back his comments because Derek gets withdrawn. Stiles doesn't know what happened in Derek's past to make him so touchy, but he knows better than to ask. He'll get his answers one day, and that's enough.  
  
He heats when he sees the smudge of cream cheese on Derek's lip, and promptly hates himself for it. Derek licks it away a moment later.  
  
School is boring, as usual, but Stiles is preoccupied anyway. That dream really has him rattled. Was this really just a normal, never-in-reality-ever-happening-because-ew sex dream? Those happened. This didn't feel like that, though. Stiles was attracted to the man in his dream, even now. He was fierce and confident and muscular and everything Stiles wanted in a guy. But when he tried to conflate that Derek with the adorable, fuzzy-eared Derek he loved, he felt unsettled. Derek depended on him for literally everything, and he trusted him with his life. Derek was innocent and playful, not seductive and commanding.  
  
Well, except for that first part. After his joke this morning, Stiles isn't sure just how pure Derek's thoughts really are. He'd always assumed mini-weres either didn't know or didn't care about human sexuality, and Derek's thrown that belief into question. Before Stiles can stop himself, his brain makes the next logical leap: does that mean Derek masturbates, too?  
  
The idea is hot, adorable, and icky all at once. Stiles hates this dissonance, wishes the dream had never happened. But the image lingers in his mind, regardless, and Stiles finds himself exploring the idea as he doodles in his British Lit notes. Does Derek have fantasies? Does he rush through jerking off, or does he like taking his time with it? Which gender does he prefer?  
  
Stiles thinks he's being discrete, but Derek gets up out of his desk and kicks the back of Stiles' hand, looking impatient. He jerks his chin as if to say _Really?_ Stiles blushes and scribbles a _sorry_ onto the corner of his paper. Derek sniffs and goes back to his corner of the desk. His notes are so small Stiles can barely read them, but he knows from experience that they're detailed and thorough. They're probably leagues better than Stiles'.  
  
Stiles can't completely push aside the dilemma he faces, but he doesn't have to think about the sexual aspect of it. Instead he tries to work through the moral quagmire into which he's landed himself. On one hand, thoughts are just thoughts, inconsequential and transient. He's safe to think whatever dirty things he wants to about anyone, and no one will be the wiser. On the other hand, his friendship with Derek is incredibly important to him, and he doesn't want to get awkward because he's too horny for his own good. He couldn't bear losing Derek.  
  
And he owns the little dude, even if he likes to think that Derek's an independent person like anyone else. Where would Derek go, if he chose not to live with Stiles? Would Scott take him? Could Stiles bear that? He doesn't think he could. And even if Derek is cool with Stiles' attraction (a possibility Stiles can't afford to  really consider), there's a world of ethical problems he'd have to face. Derek's not even the same _species_ as him. Jesus Christ. Is Stiles contemplating bestiality right now?  
  
Stiles doesn't realize Derek's trying to get his attention until he feels a sharp pain in his hand. “Ouch!”  
  
“Mr. Stilinski?” his teacher asks, eyebrow raised.  
  
“Hand cramp,” Stiles offers innocently. “Sorry.”  
  
Once the teacher is reabsorbed by _Beowulf_ , Stiles frowns down at Derek, who had stabbed him with his pencil. “What the fuck, dude?”  
  
“Your heartbeat is going nuts,” Derek whispers back, looking worried. “What's up with you today?”  
  
“Nothing.” Stiles shifts in his seat and tries not to blush. “Headache.”  
  
“That's a lie,” Derek says, eyeing him sadly. “You're lying to me.”  
  
“Stilinski?” And now Teach's pissed.  
  
“Sorry!” Stiles says, raising his hands. “I'm sorry.” He lowers his voice. “We'll talk later, okay?”  
  
Derek nods, looking distant, and Stiles' heart hurts. He's never lied to Derek before. He's never needed to.  
  
The school day passes in uncomfortable silence. When he's not taking diligent notes, Derek is curled up in the pocket of Stiles' hoodie, pretending his human doesn't exist. Stiles can't blame him.  
  
“We need to talk,” Stiles says as soon as he closes the door to his Jeep. Derek crawls out of Stiles pocket and curls up in the nest Stiles made for him in the cup holder.  
  
“No shit,” Derek says darkly. And then Stiles _knows_ he's in trouble, because Derek's cursed only a handful of times the entire time Stiles has known him. “So? Talk.”  
  
“Uh, right.” Stiles adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I, um, I had a, a crazy dream last night.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I'm just dealing with it, is all,” Stiles says. “And it's kind of really complex. I'm not sure what to do.”  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek offers. Stiles smiles down at him for a second.  
  
“Nah, man, it's okay.”  
  
“Well tough luck, then,” Derek replies, voice hardening. “Because that's what we're going to do. You can fool all of your human friends into thinking you're okay, but not me. I can smell the fear on you. Something's got you worked up, and it's my job to help you through it, whatever it is.”  
  
“You can't,” Stiles confesses. “That's kind of the problem.”  
  
“It is?” Derek cocks his head. “How so?”  
  
“The dream,” Stiles says. “It was about you.”  
  
Derek shakes his head, confused. “But you had a se-- oh. _Oh._ ”  
  
“Yeah.” Stiles grimaces. “I'm really sorry, man. I'm not sure what's going on with me right now, and I didn't want to weird you out with it.”  
  
“It doesn't weird me out,” Derek says, which shocks the hell out of Stiles.  
  
“It doesn't?”  
  
Derek shrugs. “Everyone has crazy sex dreams, Stiles.”  
  
“Do you?” Stiles asks before he can stop himself.  
  
“Of course I do,” Derek says, laughing. “More than I can count.”  
  
“But you've never, you know,” Stiles says, taking one hand off the wheel to gesture vaguely at his crotch.  
  
“I do it while you're in the shower, usually,” Derek says, turning bright red. “Sorry.”  
  
“Dude, no,” Stiles says, mind swirling with just how ludicrous this conversation is, “never apologize for jerking off. It's, like, the most healthy, natural thing in the Universe.”  
  
Derek hums, and they spend the next ten seconds in silence, all through which Stiles berates himself for encouraging his pet to jack off. What the hell even is his life? “Do you wanna talk about it? The dream?” Derek asks.  
  
Stiles thinks back to how solid Derek felt, pressed against him from chest to knee, and how much more awkward things could get. “Uh. That's alright.”  
  
“Okay,” Derek says simply. “But you're my best friend, you know. If you need to talk about something, I'm here for you. Even if that thing is about me. Cool?”  
  
“Thanks, little buddy,” Stiles says, holding out a finger for Derek to fistbump. Derek pounds it, something indescribable crossing his features.  
  
Stiles wants to say that the next few weeks are awkward but, honestly, they aren't. Derek hasn't pressured Stiles into talking about the dreams, and Stiles pretends he isn't continuing to have them. Because things are better than ever, which throws Stiles for a loop and a half, but he's not going to ruin everything by asking about it. He's smarter than that, at least.  
  
But things have changed in little ways that remind Stiles that, yeah, that conversation definitely still happened. He spends a lingering extra few minutes in the shower, now that he knows Derek's using the time to self-love. In return, Derek offers to go over to Scott's no less than four times, when he's only made the suggestion once in the year prior. Stiles knows it's because Derek knows how he spends his afternoons. Stiles isn't sure if he should be grateful or humiliated by Derek's efforts.  
  
It's more than just these little considerations, though. Derek's been sweeter, more touch-friendly than normal. Stiles is pretty sure it's to reassure him that Derek doesn't care about the dreams, that they're still friends. Stiles appreciates that, but it makes things more difficult.  
  
See, the thing is, Stiles knows now that it wasn't just a crazy sex dream, after all. He's got a thing for his mini-were. He notices it in little moments, like when Derek steals a pea off Stiles' plate or gnaws on the strings of Stiles' favorite hoodie. There's a tug on something in his heart, deep, and it's more terrifying than anything Stiles has experienced before. He's had crushes on plenty of people, but none that share his living space on a daily basis. He can't just close his bedroom door and hide away from it all, not this time.  
  
So he ignores it as best he can. He loves Derek a lot and, if it came down to it, he would break his own heart before he'd make Derek uncomfortable. It's as easy (and as difficult) as that.  
  
"I made you a thing," Derek announces one afternoon. Stiles is flicking through a new installment of his favorite Dark Horse comic series.  
  
"Awesome, dude," Stiles says absent-mindedly.  
  
"Stiles," Derek whines, stomping his tiny foot. Stiles looks over the edge of his book and sees Derek standing on his desk, looking upset.  
  
"Sorry, Der," he says genuinely. He puts the comic book down. "What's up?"  
  
"I made you this," Derek replies, standing aside to reveal a complex piece of origami.  
  
"Is this a dragon?" Stiles breathes, picking the creation up carefully. The folds are intricate and precise, the paper crisp. Derek must have spent a long time perfecting the patterns, because there are no extra crease lines.  
  
"Yep," Derek says proudly. "Do you like it?"  
  
"I _love_ it," Stiles says. He picks Derek up and plants a kiss on the top of his head, between the points of his ears. "It's beautiful. I had no idea you liked origami."  
  
Derek hops back to the desk, pink, and stands next to the dragon. "It's peaceful work," he says, rubbing a hand over the plane of one wing. "The smaller folds are easier, even though the online guides say they're the tricky parts. I think having little hands helps."  
  
"I bet it does," Stiles says, impressed. "What inspired this?"  
  
Derek sits down cross-legged. "You like dragons," he says. It's not an answer, but Stiles gets the feeling that's purposeful.  
  
"That I do, amigo," he says. "That I do."  
  
Soon a wizard, complete with a carefully pointed hat and beard, joins the dragon, along with a lion and a stegosaurus. Stiles thinks Derek's on a origami binge, but Derek refuses to answer his questions about it.  
  
Stiles goes home with Scott Thursday afternoon to play video games. They don't hang out that much, now that Scott's got himself a girlfriend, and that aches a little, but Stiles has Derek to play with, and it's okay. Allison's got an archery tournament coming up, though, and she has to spend all her free time practicing for it. Hence the epic Call of Duty marathon Stiles and Scott are about to have.  
  
Derek immediately takes off to play with Isaac. Boyd and Erica are visiting, too, because they rush to greet Stiles.  
  
"Hey there, big boy," Erica says flirtatiously. Stiles laughs and crouches so he can see her better. She's a bombshell, all blonde curls and artful cleavage, and she knows it. Stiles loves that about her.  
  
"Looking gorgeous as always, Erica," he replies. "Hey Boyd."  
  
"Stiles," Boyd says neutrally. Boyd's the calmest were Stiles  has ever met. Stiles thinks he complements Erica's vivacious nature well.  
  
"Hey, I'm gonna get the game set up, okay?" Scott says, already climbing the stairs. "You're welcome to whatever snacks you want."  
  
"Are you guys playing CoD?" Erica asks excitedly. "Can I watch?"  
  
"Don't you want to play with the others?" Stiles asks.  
  
"Nah man, I play with these losers every day." Erica flicks her hair over her shoulder. She pouts, sticking out her bottom lip and giving him doe eyes. "Pretty please?"  
  
"Alright, alright," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. Erica claps her hands and bounces up and down, tawny tail flicking behind her. "Boyd, you wanna join?"  
  
"That's okay," Boyd says, shrugging one shoulder. "I don't like video games."  
  
"That's cause he's a chump," Erica tells Stiles, laughing when Boyd lunges at her playfully. He presses her into the carpet and she kisses him, glowing with happiness. "Go play with Isaac and Derek," she says. "I'll be back soon."  
  
"I'll miss you," Boyd says quietly, but he gets up and runs across the room toward the kitchen, where Isaac and Derek are mock-fighting.  
  
"Derek was right, you guys are totally a thing now," Stiles says, awed.  
  
"Hell yeah we are," Erica says. She makes grabby hands at Stiles and he lifts her up to his shoulder before heading up to Scott's room. "He has a massive dick," she whispers into his ear. Stiles stumbles over a stair and chokes on his own spit. Erica cackles loudly. "Seriously, though, it's awesome. Boyd's really good to me."  
  
"I'm happy for you," Stiles tells her. "I was kind of surprised when Derek mentioned it a few weeks ago, but I can totally see it now. It's very opposites attract-y."  
  
He opens the door to Scott's room and sits in one of the beanie bags on Scott's floor. "Hey, you ready?" Scott asks, tossing him a controller. "You're about to get your ass handed to you."  
  
"Whatever, man," Stiles says with a grin. "I think we both know who's about to cry into his pillow tonight, and it ain't me."  
  
"Oh, you're fuckin' on," Scott shoots back.  
  
An hour in, Erica nudges Stiles' neck with her tiny hand. "So," she says, "what'd you think of the origami?"  
  
"What?" Stiles asks, distracted. "How'd you know about that?" Scott lobs a grenade at him and he explodes. "Fuck you too, Scotty."  
  
"He told us about it, duh," Erica replies smoothly. "So, have you given him anything?"  
  
"No, why? Am I supposed to?" Stiles takes cover in a nearby house and curses when it gets bombed to dust.  
  
"Of course you are," Erica sighs. "Geez, it's like you don't know how to court someone."  
  
"Wait, _what_?" Stiles pauses the game and scoops Erica into his hand so he can see her. "What's this about courting?"  
  
"Derek's courting you?" Scott asks incredulously. "Seriously?"  
  
"If he was, would you have a problem with it?" Stiles asks seriously. It isn't what was supposed to come out of his mouth but, now that he's said it, he wants to hear Scott's answer. Scott's always been better at moral dilemmas than Stiles, even when they were kids.  
  
"I mean, I'm not going to say I'm completely onboard with it," Scott says, and Stiles' heart plummets. "There's a lot involved in being in a relationship. Like, how would you, uh, you know--"  
  
"Have sex," Erica supplies.  
  
"Yeah," Scott says, flushing. "And what happens if it doesn't work out? You live with the guy."  
  
"You aren't upset about the trans-species thing?" Stiles asks, confused.  
  
"What? No way, man," Scott says, shaking his head. "That's like the last of my concerns. Derek may be smaller than us, but he's a full-grown man. If he's cool with it, and you're cool with it, than I am, too. I just think it would be more complicated than your average relationship."  
  
That's surprisingly eloquent, coming from Scott. Stiles is more than a little impressed. "Thanks, bro."  
  
"Of course, dude," Scott says. "But you never answered my question. Is he courting you?"  
  
"I don't know," Stiles says, just as Erica says "yes."  
  
"He is?" Stiles asks her. "How do you know?"  
  
"He asked me about it," Erica says. "Well, he asked about the things Boyd got me when we first started going out, and he asked what kinds of gifts were my favorites. I inferred that he was asking for a reason, and said that every person is different, which is why it's important that his gifts reflect that. The more personal, the better. The next time I saw him, he kept going on and on about some origami thing he was doing and how he kept ripping the paper on accident."  
  
Stiles thinks back to his perfect, crisp dragon and wonders how many times Derek tried and failed before he got it right. His chest tingles with warmth. "Derek's courting me."  
  
"Yeah, dumbass," Erica sighs. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"What?" Stiles asks, thrown off-guard. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I _mean_ ," Erica says, "if you like him back, you need to return the favor. It doesn't have to be a gift, but you need to show Derek that you're interested somehow. You are interested, right?"  
  
"I-- yeah," Stiles says, blushing. "Yeah, I am."  
  
"Then show him that," Erica says. "Do something nice for him, or get him something you think he'd like. Derek's chill, but he needs something to go on, a signal or something. You know what I mean?"  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says. "But what do I get him?"  
  
"That's up to you," Erica says. "But if you'd like a hint, I know he's been talking about that new Liam Neeson flick."  
  
"Right," Stiles says faintly. He's going to take Derek out on a date. They're going to date. Holy shit. "I can do that."  
  
"Cool," Erica says, smiling. "Now get back to your game. I want you to crush McCall into dust."  
  
"Hey!" Scott protests. "Not cool!"  
  
Stiles laughs, props Erica back up on his shoulder, and complies. Scott's player get split into so many pieces, he's practically a puzzle.  
  
The next day, Stiles musters up his courage over lunch. "Hey, Derek?"  
  
"Yeah?" Derek asks around a mouthful of tater tot.  
  
"I was, uh, wondering if you'd like to see that Liam Neeson film with me," Stiles stutters, staring daggers into his slice of pizza.  
  
"Yeah, man, I've been wanting to see that for ages," Derek crows. "Why do you smell nervous? Of course I want-- oh."  
  
Stiles chances a glance up at him and sees that Derek's openly gaping at him, open-mouthed and pink. "Yeah."  
  
"Oh," Derek repeats, blinking. He smiles shyly, scratching at his jeans. "Yeah, then. Okay. I would like that a lot."  
  
"Cool," Stiles says, color rising high in his cheeks. "Awesome."  
  
After lunch Stiles lifts Derek to his shoulder and carries his tray over to the trash can. Just as he's turning to walk to his next class, Derek taps his neck. Stiles stops-- a tap on the neck is Derek's sign to hold up for a second. Derek stands and, clutching Stiles' hair for support, stretches up and kisses Stiles just above his jaw line.  
  
Stiles is almost positive he's never been happier.  
  
Stiles contemplates waiting until the weekend to take Derek to the movies to make it more date-like, but after an hour of being awkwardly polite to the mini-were he realizes that the pre-date jitters will only get worse over time, and they should go sooner rather than later. When they get out of school Stiles drives them home, stomach fluttering in anticipation. He isn't sure why he's nervous-- Derek is his closest companion and his most trusted confidant-- but he is. Perhaps it's _because_ Derek is those things: it gives Stiles a incentive to be on his best behavior. If he fucks this up, he has no one to crawl home to.  
  
"So, I was thinking we would go tonight," he says one they're in his bedroom.  
  
"Oh?" Derek asks, voice breaking. "Uh, okay."  
  
"Are you okay with that?" Stiles checks. "I mean, if you have plans…."  
  
"No," Derek says, smiling, "I don't have plans."  
  
"Alright," Stiles says, flushing. Of course Derek doesn't have plans, dumbass. "Well, uh, the movie starts at 7:25, so we have a little while. What do you want to do?"  
  
Derek glances at his wardrobe in the bookcase. "Um, I don't know."  
  
"Do you want to look through your stuff? You can totally do that," Stiles suggests. "I mean, you look fine the way you are, great, even, but I get why you would want to, you know, get ready. Or something."  
  
"Hold on," Derek says, shaking his head and slumping his shoulders. "This is ridiculous. Stiles, we're us. You're my best friend. If this is the way we're going to treat each other, we should call the whole thing off."  
  
"You're right," Stiles sighs, falling into his desk chair. "This _is_ dumb. But I don't want to call it off. Do you?"  
  
"No," Derek says, looking down at his hands. "No, I don't."  
  
"So… let's just forget that this is a first date," Stiles says. "I mean, first dates are usually awkward because people are getting to know each other, right? But we already know all that stuff about each other. I say we just, I don't know, ease into it. Tonight? It's just a movie. I don't want to date you, Derek. I want to be with you."  
  
"You do?" Derek asks. "That's a big step, Stiles."  
  
"Is it?" Stiles counters. "I've known you for a year, Der. We don't need an adjustment period. Let's just be boyfriends."  
  
"Boyfriends?" Derek squeaks. "You want to be my boyfriend?"  
  
"No, Derek, I want to be your girlfriend," Stiles retorts sarcastically.  
  
"Hey, no need to be an ass about it," Derek says petulantly. Stiles can see his lips curling up, though, so he doesn't worry.  
  
"My point is, you want to change, okay. But don't put in all this effort on my account," he says. "And yeah, I want to be your boyfriend."  
  
"Okay," Derek says, smiling softly.  
  
And it's easier. They play Halo (which Derek is scarily good at, considering he has to use both hands to operate the controller) until 7, then they lug themselves down the stairs and into the car. Well, Stiles lugs both of them, actually, but he's a gentleman, he's not going to complain about it.  
  
The movie is precisely what Stiles expected from a Liam Neeson movie: it's awesome. Derek almost falls off Stiles' shoulder from leaning forward so much, so Stiles shifts back in his seat and props his feet up on the empty chair in front of him until he can rest Derek on his chest. Derek beams at him and curls up, tail resting over his hip.  
  
Stiles has a hard time focusing on the movie after that. Derek's a warm presence on his chest that matches the warmth he feels in his heart. And yeah, that's corny as hell, but Stiles doesn't care. He's on a date, dammit. A good one. He's surprised by how much differently he feels about Derek now, even though their relationship has barely changed. Maybe it's just the excitement of the movie getting to him, but things feel new, revitalized and reconfigured to a "boyfriend" setting. Stiles will be brushing his teeth with his _boyfriend_. He'll play chess against his _boyfriend_. He'll have dinner every night with his _boyfriend_.  
  
And his father.  
  
Derek rolls over, looking concerned. He could hear the change in his heartbeat, Stiles realizes. "What's the matter?"  
  
"What are we gonna tell my dad?" Stiles whispers, eyes wide.  
  
Derek sits up, looking surprised. "Oh," he breathes. "Uh. Do we need to say anything?"  
  
Stiles blinks. "I guess not," he replies. "I just figured we'd tell everyone, you know?"  
  
Derek's expression turns soft and content. "Yeah. But if it's going to make things harder for you, then I don't mind. I mean, it's not like you'd have to lie to him about spending time with me, or anything, right?"  
  
"Right," Stiles says.  
  
"So stop being a loser and focus on the movie," Derek finishes, turning back toward the screen. "I wanna know what happens."  
  
The movie's actually pretty predictable, but it has lots of massive explosions, so Stiles ends up liking it. Not as much as Derek, though, who raves about the big fight scene at the end for the entire drive home. Stiles gets a full blow-by-blow, then an analysis of the blow-by-blow, with an emphasis on which maneuvers came from which fighting techniques. Stiles has no idea where Derek picked up this near encyclopedic knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, but it's impressive. When he says as much to Derek, the mini-were blushes.  
  
"I just think it's interesting," he says. "Humans always act like they've risen above their baser instincts, but human battles are unlike anything else on this planet. You label and methodize your fights, like that makes them any less violent. It's always been something I found fascinating."  
  
Stiles sucks in a breath. "When you put it that way, we sound really hypocritical."  
  
"No, no, that's not my intention," Derek insists, twisting in his cup-holder seat. "I don't look down on humanity, or anything. I think it's actually really smart. Trained fighters are more efficient and long-lasting than people who go in guns blazing. I just don't understand why people have such a love-hate relationship with it all. People refuse to be violent in day-to-day situations, yet movies are sensationally gruesome."  
  
"The alternative is we hit each other," Stiles says. "I'll stick to my explosions."  
  
"Agreed," Derek says, smiling up at him. "Thanks, by the way, for taking me to see it. I had a lot of fun."  
  
"Me too," Stiles says, looking down. "Successful first date?"  
  
"Successful first date," Derek confirms, snuggling into his nest. "This means I get to take you out next."  
  
"Oh?" Stiles asks, pulling into the driveway. "And just where are you taking me?"  
  
"I'll figure something out," Derek says confidently. Stiles believes him. Derek's a determined guy, and if he says he'll find something cool, he will.  
  
It's not late, but they get ready for bed anyway. It's been a long day, emotionally. Stiles thinks they could both use the sleep.  
  
Stiles crawls into bed and puts Derek on his pillow. Instead of lying down, though, Derek walks over to Stiles' face. "It's proper to give your date a kiss, you know," he says primly.  
  
"I though first date kisses were _im_ proper," Stiles teases, rolling onto his side to look at Derek.  
  
"Maybe in the nineteenth century," Derek replies dryly. "So were same sex romances. And trans-species romances."  
  
"Well, we're just a package set then, huh?" Stiles jokes. Derek grins at him, but his lips falter a second later.  
  
"Unless you don't want to kiss me," he says quietly. "I mean, that's okay."  
  
"Oh shut up and and get over here," Stiles says, tilting his head up. Derek beams and steps even closer, bending at the hips to press a tiny kiss to the center of Stiles' bottom lip. Stiles' heart aches with how sweet it is. Derek steps back, flushed.  
  
"Okay, goodnight," he says, walking to his little indent in the pillow.  
  
"Goodnight, Derek," Stiles says, reaching back to turn off the light. "Sleep tight."

  
  
**EPILOGUE**   
  


Two days later, Stiles and Derek are getting ready for school when Derek turns to Stiles and says, "I know what I want to do for our second date."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Stiles asks, already smiling. "What's that?"  
  
"I'm supposed to go to Isaac's this afternoon, right?" Derek asks. Stiles nods, confused. Derek smiles a smile full of teeth. "Cancel it. We'll spend the date here."  
  
Stiles trips over nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I mention moral dilemmas that I don't really resolve. I tried to resolve them and ended up rewriting four thousand words of fic. I could either drudge through the implications of a trans-species relationship involving two drastically sized people or I could have fluff. I chose the latter. If this bothers you, let me know and I'll tell you my logic. 
> 
> That whole sugar depletion leading to attention loss is [true](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ego_depletion), by the way.
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thanks to [prettiestalpha](prettiestaplha.tumblr.com) for coming up with such a brilliant idea.
> 
> EDIT: LOOK AT [THIS](http://giantteenwolforgy.tumblr.com/post/78148736330/cute-mini-alpha-story-if-youre-interested) PRETTY THING GIANTTEENWOLFORGY SAID ABOUT ME. I respect her so much. I'm dying a little inside. Wow.


End file.
